


early onset

by ballerinaroy



Series: nineteen years later seems pretty far away [16]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Aging, Dementia, Difficult Decisions, F/M, Family, Family Dynamics, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-09
Updated: 2019-06-09
Packaged: 2020-04-23 07:59:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19146814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ballerinaroy/pseuds/ballerinaroy
Summary: When her father is diagnosed with dementia, Hermione is forced to navigate the subject they’d been politely avoiding for the past decade.orWatching your parents grow old is never easy. But Hermione's had enough experience dealing with things too young.





	early onset

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the difficult conversations my own family has had recently. With your parents, you're always too young.

Hermione was seven, still in her school uniform and her skirt was just short enough that her thighs were sticking to the leather seats of the backseat of her father's car. A book was open on her lap but her attention was elsewhere, on her parents in the front seat, talking in low and serious voices just audible over the music playing.

“We don’t have the space, Helen,” her father said seriously, “And they’ll need more attention than we can give them.”

“It won’t be any different than they have now,” her mother said in a soothing, reasonable voice that Hermione associated with being convinced into taking a bath before bed. “They’ll still have help come in.”

There was silence except for the sound of the turn signal as they came to a stop.

“Your father can’t do it on his own,” Her mother reminded him in that same calm voice. “Not now.”

Her father gave a long sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose and pushing up his glasses. “I know.”

The light changed and the car crawled forward.

“We’ll have to push back opening the practice.” Her father said practically.

“It won’t be for long,” her mother said soothingly, reaching over to put her hand reassuringly on his thigh. “Just until a room opens for them.”

Her father nodded.

“Otherwise we’ll be running over there every day, you’ll be less worried this way”

In the rearview mirror, her father caught her eye and gave a smile. “Alright back there worm?”

Hermione smiled at her longstanding nickname, short for bookworm, that only her parents were allowed to call her. “What are you talking about?”

Worriedly her parents exchanged a look.

“Is grandad okay?” Hermione went on, “He didn’t look like he was feeling well.”

“Always astute dear,” her mother smiled, turning back to face her.

“What does astute mean?”

“Means you always know what’s going on,” her father said effortlessly. “You notice things around you.”

Unlike most adults, her parents always answered her questions.

“Do you remember when we told you about how your grandmother wasn’t feeling well,” her mother explained calmly, “that she might not always act like herself?”

Hermione nodded.

“Well, your grandad has the same thing.” She went on, her smile a little too big. “Sometimes he might not act like himself, he might be a little confused and forget things.”

“Oh,” Hermione said quietly. She thought about it for a moment. “Well, can’t the doctor do anything?”

Again her parents shared a look.

“Your grandparents have something called dementia, it’s not something a doctor can fix.” Her father said, his voice a little more stressed. “It’s a sickness in their brain, changes the way they think.”

“Dementia?”

 

“Hermione?” her mother asked.

Hermione blinked, the memory gone. She was thirty-three, sitting at the same table she had so many time before, her mother across from her, her husband doing the dishes, her children in the other room with her own father. Rose was reenacting her goal scored at her last football match.

“Dementia?” Hermione repeated stupidly.

“We always knew it was a possibility,” Helen said calmly, “It runs in your father’s family. Both your grandmum and grandad had it.”

“But,” Hermione said, blinking and staring blankly into the other room where her father was laughing. “He’s only in his sixties.”

“Early onset,” her mother said. “Just like your grandparents.”

“How did you find out?” Hermione asked.

“There’s just been a few moments, here and there. He had his annual check-up, I mentioned something to his doctor and three specialists later.” her mother sighed. “It’s been a bit of a whirlwind.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Hermione demanded. “I would have gone with you.”

“You’re not particularly easy to get ahold of my dear,” she answered. “It’s not like you have a phone.”

“Mum, you know magic interferes with technology.”

“And that was your choice, wasn’t it?” Helen said shortly, a certain iciness to her voice. She softened at the alarmed look on Hermione’s face. “It’s not like you could have done anything dear. I know how busy you are with work.”

“I know, but I could have been there for _you,_ ” Hermione answered. They paused for a moment, Hermione’s grip tightening around her mug. “Are you going to be able to manage him here?”

“For now,” her mother said calmly. “We’ll have help come in when I can’t anymore.”

“And how long until he’ll need specialized care?” Hermione asked.

“There’s no way to really tell,” her mother said softly. “If he’s anything like your grandparents then a year, maybe two.”

“You can’t manage that all on your own,” Hermione said.

“I’ve already looked into some long term facilities,” her mother told her. “Made some appointments to visit them.”

Hermione lowered her voice. “Are you going to be able to afford that?”

Her mother tensed averting her eyes.

Their practice had never quite recovered from their two years abroad. It was hard to explain to their surprisingly tight-knit community why one day they’d simply disappeared giving no notice to their employees or patients. They’d tried for several years to build back up their report to no avail, nearly bankrupting them in the process. In the end, her father had taken a job with a previously rival office but they were far from the careful savings account they’d once had.

“Because Ron and I will make sure that you’re alright,” Hermione said urgently, “You know that right?”

“Let’s cross that when we come to it, yeah?” she said softly.

 

 

 

“Dementia?” Ron asked of her.

The kids were in bed, still buzzing from the program on the telly. As much as they loved their grandparents Hermione was still convinced their real joy from going over there was watching the moving pictures.

“Mmh,” Hermione said, looking up at him. She could tell he’d no idea what the word meant. “It’s a brain disease, affects a person’s memory.”

“Oh Hermione,” he said softly offering his arms to her. She went to him at once, allowing him to hold her tightly, feeling safe in his arms. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” Hermione murmured, “Both of his parents had it too. They came and lived with us for a spell before going into a care facility, like a hospital.”

Ron didn’t say anything, pulling one arm from around her and massaging the spot on her shoulder that always ached in times of stress.

“I told mum I’d go with her to visit some facilitates this week,” Hermione went on, it was easier to focus on the facts than her emotions. “And to the doctors, she going to hear the testing results, should give a better idea of how quickly he’s progressing.”

“Want me to go with you?” Ron murmured.

Hermione shook her head.

“He’s just so young,” Hermione finally admitted. “I remember it happening to my grandparents but somehow they seemed so old. The kids are barely-“

Her voice caught in her throat and she ducked her head. Ron’s hands tightened on her and she could feel her eyes getting wet. “All they’re going to know of him is being sick, what if they don’t remember him like he is now?”

 

 

Her grandmother had been diagnosed in her toddler years but she remembered her grandfather’s diagnosis, watching her father upset as he spent weeks on the phones and taking them to appointments. Even them living in her childhood home for a spell until they were able to find them a proper care facility. She’s been seven, Hugo’s age, and in a way, it made it easier to explain to her children.

“Your grandpa is sick. Sometimes he might not seem like himself when we go and visit him, he might have trouble remembering things,” and then the hardest part, “he might have trouble remembering you. But he still loves you very very much.”

They were bright children, Hermione was incredibly proud of them, but no matter how she explained it she knew they wouldn’t really understand. Not until they saw it.

 

 

“If it’s anything like your grandparents he has about a year before he struggles to communicate, and we’ve a few years before he’ll be needing a home.” Her mother said practically and for a moment Hermione could hear herself in her mother’s voice.

“Are you sure you can handle that mum?” Hermione asked.

“I have to, don’t I?” she said simply.

Hermione was reminded strongly of the conversations they’d had after the war when she’d been so matter of fact with her parents. Her emotions had been so raw that even letting a hint of them show lead immediately lead to her breaking down.

“We’ll manage.” Her mother assured her, mistaking her hesitation.

“Yes,” Hermione agreed, reaching out and taking her mother’s hand reassuringly. “We will.”

 

 

She’d read and researched, browsed pamphlets and timelines but no amount of preparation prepared her for the first time Hermione walked in the room and her father showed no signs of recognition. It’d been a Saturday afternoon, Rose’s match had been rained out and they’d pushed back their dinner plans to spend the afternoon with them. They spent most weekends with them now.

“Dad!” Hermione called as she let herself in through the front door, “Mum, we’re here!”

The pitch where they practiced at least had payphone allowing her to call ahead. Hermione often wondered how the muggleborn children of the future would fair as technology became more important.

“Grandad!” Rose squealed, throwing herself into the room. “Did mum tell you about my spelling test? I got a perfect score!”

“Oh, I’m so proud of you,” he said after a moment, looking up at Hermione suspiciously.

Rose had gone on, talking animatedly about how difficult the test had been and how she’d been the first in her class to hand it in. Hermione’s father, however, was staring at her, distrust in his eyes as Hermione summoned Rose’s jacket that she’d flung on the floor to put up in the closet.

“Are you alright?” Hermione asked, feeling his eyes tracking her every step of the way.

He looked at her blankly. “Can I help you?”

“Ah, Hermione, Rosie,” her mother said as she stuck her head out from the kitchen. “Where are the boys?”

Rose, already on her feet was running over to her to give her grandmother a hug.

“Hugo got in some mud and needed to go home and change,” Hermione told her. “They’ll be along soon.”

“I was just finishing making tea, why don’t you visit with your father?”

“I’ll help you!” Rose said brightly, racing past her grandmother.

Hermione nodded, settling down on the couch opposite her father’s armchair. “How’s your week been?”

“Oh alright,” he said vaguely and turned his attention back to the telly. Some older movie was on, the volume so low Hermione could barely hear it.

“Did I tell you about the case Harry and I have been working on?” Hermione persisted, “The one about the wizards smuggling in flying rugs?”

Again he looked at her with a strained smile and nodded distractedly.

“Well, we’ve managed to track down the factory they’ve been produced and…” she trailed off, tilting her head to get his attention.

“That’s nice,” he said, not even bothering to remove his eyes from the telly.

“Dad,” Hermione said in a soft voice. “Do you know who I am?”

He gave her a vacant smile and nodded. “Of course dear.”

Hermione had done it so often she knew he was lying.

 

 

In the other room, he could hear her father greeting Ron warmly. Where her relationship with her father had strained since restoring their memories, he’d never had a problem bonding with Ron. They amused one another with curiosity about one another’s worlds. Ron had brought him inventions from the shop and David, in turn, had taught him the finer points of football.

While her father refused to talk about magic with her anymore, he’d never a problem talking about it with Ron. She’d been jealous and frustrated, but ultimately grateful that her father had accepted her choice in a spouse.

“How’ve things been?” Hermione asked softly, trying to hold back her own emotions.

“He has his good days and bad,” her mother said vaguely. “He likes it when the kids come around, he’s always telling the help about Rosie’s grades.”

“Mum,” Hermione said hesitantly. “Does he ever talk about me?”

Helen paused in thought and then gave her the same sort of vacant smile. “Of course we talk about you, dear.”

“It’s just,” Hermione paused, listening to Hugo now nature his grandfather’s attention. “He didn’t seem to recognize me.”

“Well,” Helen said uncomfortably. “Like I said, he has good days and bad.”

 

 

“I think you might be right,” Ron quietly.

Where at first she thought it might have just been the day, or perhaps her own overactive imagination, Hermione’d convinced herself and then Ron that something about her father wasn’t right. His Auror days hadn’t gone to waste and from the other room, Hermione had heard him carefully investigating her father after supper.

“I asked him if he had any kids, and he said he did, but only wanted to talk about Rose and Hugo.” Ron went on when she didn’t say anything. “But he didn’t know anything about you, didn’t even recognize your name.”

Hermione looked to him helplessly and he gathered her into his arms, stroking her hair gently.

“He’s my dad,” Hermione mindlessly said. “How can he not-?“ but the thought was too terrible to finish. “He’s my dad.”

“I know,” Ron murmured, lightly kissing her forehead. “I know.”

“Do you think it was because I altered their memories?”

It was the question she’d been afraid to ask, afraid to even explore when she was left alone with her thoughts. The look on Ron’s face answered her at once.

“You said that both your grandparents had it,” Ron said carefully, avoiding her question.

“I know, but it’s not like he’s forgotten everyone,” Hermione said desperately. “He’s just forgotten me.”

“We could take him to St. Mungo’s,” Ron offered quietly.

“I’m not so sure I want this getting out.”

“You’ve already told Kingsley what’s happened. If the Minister pardoned you, it can’t look too bad.”

Hermione gave a frustrated sigh. “Even so the public doesn’t know about this. Imagine if Rita got ahold of this, think about what she’d say?”

Ron didn’t argue with her, “Or maybe Harry could get one of the Auror’s healers to take a look at him. They’ll keep quiet enough, especially for him.”

“I wish I had a proper library,” Hermione said softly. “The one at the office is all just legal texts.”

“Hermione Granger,” he teased, “faced with a problem and still wants to run off to the library.”

She smiled at that, slipping her hands under the tails of his shirt to feel his warm skin against her shaking hands.

“We’ll think of something,” he assured her, “we always do.”

 

 

Her answer came within the day as she and Harry sat side by side at a committee meeting for improving the Ministry’s safety. She’d filled him in in whispers and notes in-between speakers. Harry had given her the same pitting look Ron had.

“Ron said we should get a healer but I don’t think they’d know anything more than I do,” Hermione explained as the passed around the latest version of the bill they were asked to consider. “I wish we knew some kind of mind healer, but they’re always so busy and I wouldn’t trust them to keep it quiet.”

“Flitwick’s coming in to consult with us,” Harry said in a low voice to her. “He helped you reverse the charm, didn’t he?”

Hermione nodded thoughtfully.

“I’ll ask him to lunch,” Harry said, “You can talk with him then.”

“Mr. Potter, Miss. Granger,” called the chair “If you’re quite finished with your side conversation-“

Hermione’d been on edge since the weekend and she was quite tired of the committee’s chair’s never-ending efforts to undermine her. She’d been looking for a cause to make her feel accomplished and seeing as her office was in a lull a fight would have to do.

“It’s Deputy Granger-Weasley,” Hermione snapped at once, turning to face him. “And I was just consulting with _Auror_ Potter to ensure that I wasn’t missing a page before I raised the question about where exactly the language about the issue of visitors registering wands, which we spent our last meeting discussing were. It was my understanding that we, as a committee voted we voted to include an amendment ensuring the right of our visitors to carry wands so long as they were registered within our halls. And although you disagreed with the motion I know you wouldn’t fail in your duties as chair of the committee to include the voted upon amendments.”

“Mrs. Weasley-“

“ _Deputy_ Granger-Weasley,” Hermione corrected again, “Please help me to understand why the amendment isn’t in the revised bill. Unless, perhaps, both Auror Potter and I failed to receive the most up to date copies?”

 

 

“Ah, what a lovely treat,” Flitwick squeaked as he spotted them. “And how are you, Miss. Granger, Mr. Weasley?”

“Granger-Weasley,” Ron corrected without thought and then, looking embarrassed. “How’s retirement treating you, Professor?”

“Very well,” Flitwick said with an amused look in his eye. “I’ve hardly any time to myself however, it’s a whole new experience in thought, doing all this consulting. I don’t miss the grading though, it’s always amazed me the efforts students will make rather than just completing what’s assigned to them.”

Ron and Harry flushed appropriately, changing the subject to stories from their time at school and their adventures, talking about their kids and the magical trouble they’d already gotten themselves into. It wasn’t until the meal was nearly finished that both Ron and Harry looked pointedly at her and the tone shifted.

“Professor, would you mind if I asked you some questions?” Hermione said in the most casual voice she could manage.

“I take it this isn’t simply a social call?” he said wisely, pushing his plate to the side and lacing his fingers together to study her.

“When is it ever?” Hermione said with a sad sort of smile. “Do you remember, when I came back to school for my seventh year, I asked you some questions about memory charms?”

“Am I to take it those conversations weren’t strictly hypothetical?” he asked a twinkle in his eye.

Hermione found her face growing hot though there was no note of disappointment in her professor’s voice. “I’ve explained myself to the Minister of course, so there are no legal ramifications—“

“My dear, if us academics spent much time being concerned with the legality of our work then no new discoveries would be made,” he said with a wave of his hand. “Now, how can I be of assistance?”

Hermione explained herself fully, about the spell work she’d used to alter her parents' memories, the exact calculations, and spells which caused Harry and Ron’s eyes to glaze over and then how she’d changed them back. And how with his new diagnosis it seemed she had disappeared completely once more.

“And I realize that there’s little magic can do when it comes to matters of the brain,” Hermione assured him. “And I’m more than willing to take him to a healer, but I thought you might be of more assistance here.”

“Why let them have all the fun?” he asked of her, the twinkle in his eye accompanied by a much more somber face.

There was a thick silence as he looked down at the calculations she’d presented him with, running his finger down the page and looking deep in thought. “Your work, as ever, is through Miss. Granger.” He said finally, looking up. And at the look on Ron’s face added with a wink, “Weasley. I’d like a few days to consult my own texts and then I could come and take a look at him. How about this Friday?”

“He does better in the early afternoon,” Hermione nodded, looking to Ron.

“I’ve got the shop,” he reminded her, “George and Angelina’s anniversary.”

“I’ll be there,” Harry said at once.

“You three have always had a strong bond,” Flitwick said approvingly at them.

“Horribly codependent is the term my sister prefers,” Ron quipped, earning a grin from the table.

“We really should be getting back Professor,” Harry said, glancing down at his watch.

“Could I take these, to look them over?” he asked of Hermione as they stood.

“Please,” Hermione said, shaking his little hand. “I appreciate your help.”

“Anything for one of my brightest students,” he smiled and glancing at Harry and Ron added. “Not to mention the heroes of the wizarding world.”

 

 

Just as with her husband, her father had no trouble talking magic with her best friend. Her father had always taken a liking to Harry, just as everyone seemed to, and when she walked through the door with him and their professor, her father greeted Harry warmly and Flitwick as his guest.

The only person her father had regarded with any level of distrust was Hermione herself and she’d left the room at Flitwick’s gentle urging to sit in the kitchen with her mother while the two wizards worked.

“You said he taught charms?” her mother asked though both of their eyes were trained in the other room.

“Mmh,” Hermione said, her eyes trained in the other room as her father laughed at something, his eyes bright with excitement.

For a moment Hermione wondered whether or not her father had ever shown that much excitement over her own magic. The knowledge that he hadn’t made her throat ache. It went on for a half hour, the spells and the questions. Their tones were light, easy but Hermione couldn’t help but notice that Harry stopped meeting her eyes halfway through.

When it was finished her father turned her attention back to his television and Harry and their professor joined them in the kitchen. Tea was politely refused in favor of making it quick but neither wizard would meet her eye.

“Your spell was flawless and had nothing to do with his diagnosis,” Flitwick assured her at once. “You said dementia runs in the family?”

Hermione nodded.

“It was only a matter of time until he got to this stage, but because at one time you were erased, the memory was let go of quickly.”

“I’m completely erased then?” Hermione asked, “He’s no idea he has a daughter?”

“I’m not a trained Legimist,” Flitwick said sadly, “So I’m afraid I can’t answer that for you.”

Hermione nodded, again blinking back tears.

“I’m sorry I can’t do more to help you, Miss. Granger.”

“I can take you home Professor,” Harry offered but the elder wizard waved him off.

“I’ll be quite alright. If there’s anything more I can do.”

“Thank you,” Hermione managed and watched blankly as Harry showed out Flitwick, the two talking in low voices.

“I’m sorry,” Hermione said to her mother at once. “If I would have known-“

“You would have done it anyway,” her mother said plainly. She was no longer looking at her daughter but her husband. Her voice was harsh and distant as she rose to leave the room. “It’s done Hermione, and like your Professor said it was always going to happen this way.”

 

 

She wound up on the floor, trying to stretch out her back when Ron came through the grate. She could hear him taking off his shoes as she stretched out her fingers as far as they could reach and he padded over, taking the spot on the couch she’d abandoned.

“You alright?” he asked, putting his hand gently on the small of her back.

“Yeah,” she sighed, straightening up to look at him, his hand shifting to her shoulder and massaging the spot that was always in a knot. In a smaller voice, she admitted, “No.”

“Where are the kids?” he asked when she didn’t continue and she was grateful to not have to talk about the thing she couldn’t stop obsessing over.

“The girls ended up at your mums and the boys at Ginny’s,” Hermione answered. “I hate to do it to your mum, she has them too much as it is.”

“They won’t mind,” Ron assured her. “Dad always says she’s happier when the house is full.”

Hermione gave a weak smile, leaning against his leg. He felt solid and with this realization found tears in her eyes.

“Do you wanna talk?” he murmured.

“There’s nothing to be done,” Hermione told him softly. “Flitwick said that it likely would have happened anyway, but because he had a gap where the memories weren’t there…”

She trailed off, sniffling. She didn’t want to think about it anymore, there was nothing she could do now.

“What can I do Hermione?” Ron asked tenderly.

“Would you judge me horribly if I asked you to get me drunk and shag me senseless?” she asked of him.

“Hermione,” he said in concerned voice and she tilted her head up to look at him. He studied her for a moment and then grinned, teasing her. “For a know it all, you do ask the stupidest questions sometimes.”

“Stop it,” she said, swatting at him, but she was smiling too.

“Let me get you a glass of wine,” he said, leaning over to kiss her, “I’ll take a quick shower and then we can not talk for however long you’d like.”

 

 

“They’re not going to be able to afford proper treatment,” Hermione said quietly. “They were never able to get their practice quite going again when they came back.”

She’d ignored it for as long as she could but lying between the sheets with her husband, his arms on her bare skin, made it hard not to talk now.

“We’ll manage,” Ron assured her, “We make enough to support us and if worse comes to worst you can go after one of those publishers who got it all wrong.”

Hermione smiled for a moment, “Even then she won’t be able to keep the house. It’ll be too much to manage, just her.”

“Then she can come and live with us,” he said simply.

Hermione looked up at him suddenly. “Seriously?”

“Of course,” Ron said to her. “It’s family, Hermione and we’ve got the space.”

For a moment Hermione found herself considering it. “She won’t, she doesn’t like magic.”

“No,” Ron agreed, “But she loves her grandkids, and wants to be around you. Besides, if she’s never around it, she’ll never change her views.”

The solution terrified her. Living with her mother surely meant having to face the subject they’d been politely avoiding for the past decade.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you.” She said seriously, pressing a kiss to his chest.

“You’d work yourself to death and not have any fun along the way,” Ron told her seriously.

Hermione smirked. “Too right you are.”

 

 

 

“You know, it’s really amazing how efficient you are all at packing,” Helen said as she surveyed the stark living room.

“Magic is handy like that,” Ron agreed, floating a box in from the other room and setting it in the middle. “I think that’s the last of it from the office.”

Hermione watched him tensely worried he’d said something wrong but her mother merely hummed her agreement, opening the box to check the contents.

“Bedroom’s clear,” Harry said a moment later, floating a shrunken wardrobe in front of him.

“Are you sure you don’t want to visit dad before we head home?” Hermione asked her mother.

“No,” her mother shook her head. “The staff said he’s been sundowning ever since he’s moved in. I’d rather get settled in.”

“We’ll take you in the morning,” Hermione told her and her mother nodded without thanks.

There was a for-sale and sold sign by the path and they paused at it to look back at the home. It hadn’t been her home in years, not really since she was just a child but Hermione still felt tears in her eyes as she gazed back at the place her parents had always lived. Beside her, she heard a sniffle and without thinking, Hermione reached out to comfort her mother.

Physical comfort was not the norm in their relationship but her mother didn’t flinch as Hermione wove their arms together so they could lean on one another.

“The kids are excited to have you mum,” Hermione whispered, not knowing what words would be right to comfort her.

Her mother looked over at her and nodded, teary-eyed.

“I’m excited to have you,” Hermione braved. “To fix what’s broken between us.”

To Hermione’s utter surprise her mother gave a watery smile and leaned her head on Hermione’s shoulder. “I’d like that, dear.”

 


End file.
